“And me, Louise,” said he—“will you not present me also to mademoiselle?”
“Oh, she knows you—she knows all!”
This unguarded expression made Montalais laugh and Raoul sigh with happiness, for he interpreted it thus: “She knows all our love.”
“The ceremonies being over, Monsieur le Vicomte,” said Montalais, “take a chair, and tell us quickly the news you bring flying thus.”
“Mademoiselle, it is no longer a secret; the king, on his way to Poitiers, will stop at Blois, to visit his royal highness.”
“The king here!” exclaimed Montalais, clapping her hands. “What! are we going to see the court? Only think, Louise—the real court from Paris! Oh, good heavens! But when will this happen, monsieur?”
“Perhaps this evening, mademoiselle; at latest, tomorrow.”
Montalais lifted her shoulders in sign of vexation.
“No time to get ready! No time to prepare a single dress! We are as far behind the fashions as the Poles. We shall look like portraits of the time of Henry IV. Ah, monsieur! this is sad news you bring us!”
“But, mesdemoiselles, you will be still beautiful!”